The outpouring of national grief at Obama’s assassination was on a scale not seen since JFK. And it was still raw. It was not a time that Stephen Keeling was enjoying; as a person nor a President. But some were born great, some achieve greatness and others have it thrust upon them like he did. He placed the biography of Sir Francis Drake on the nightstand and went to turn out the light.
“Good evening Mr President!”
Keeling yelped at the sight of the ashen faced humanoid standing at the foot of his bed. He scrambled for the panic alarm when his arms passed through the nightstand.
“What is going on?” panted Keeling.
“My name is Roswell, Mr President,” it glided towards him. “You are asleep and this conversation is happening in your head. Please, try to relax.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No Mr President. I work for the NSA. I am here to brief you within the safety of Brain-Space on the counter measures we have for super powered people. Now would you like to get dressed or are you comfortable in your pyjamas?”
Gunship wiped his hands and admired his, well destruction. He’d left the prison and headed to last place he knew Doctor Falcon had been which was an island base on West Dog Island in the British Virgin Islands. The good doctor had carved a falcon into the islands only feature, a volcano, and plotted his new schemes from there. But now the island was flat. Completely flat after Gunship vented his frustration upon it, in looking for the man who’d plagued him and the world.
“Would you like to talk?” asked Shadowave as he shimmered into existence.
“No,” replied Gunship. “I want to find him.”
“We will. We always do.”
Gunship shook his head. “But the seemingly endless cycle…it’s frustrating.”
Shadowave looked at the pile of rubble that was once a secret villain lair and stifled a smile. “I can see that. You should really lighten up on Bobcat.”
Gunship rolled his eyes. “He’s a punk kid.”
“And the son of your friend who has stepped into the role of his dead father better than anyone could ever imagine. You keep pushing him and…”
“He’ll do a Battlechain,” Gunship exhaled. “I know, I know. He’s just so lippy.”
“Lippy? You are old,” Shadowave remarked. “Now have you finished being an overpowered petulant child?”
“Our prison system is a joke!” snapped Will O’Reilee as he began his rant on his morning show. “Two breakouts in as many days from the Emil Sandberg prison on Shooter Island! TWO! And this isn’t one of those minimum security day farms, this prison houses people who can eat cars! Slangen…Schlager…whatever his name is FLEW over the prison walls! FLEW! Why do these people, and I use that term loosely, get to see the sky? Because of bleeding heart liberals! And Doctor Falcon! Just in case you forgot who this animal was, back in nineteen ninety seve…”
“How can you watch that crap?” asked Stunning Girl as she did one-armed press-ups.
“He’s kinda right,” replied Tigarayan stuffing noddles into her mouth whilst perched on the arm of a lounge in High Point.
“Which means he’s kinda wrong,”
“Ssh,” Tigarayan waved her away, returning to the man on the television.
Doctor Falcon’s battlesuit hummed with eldritch energy as he hovered into the air. “You can’t stop me Panopticons. I AM A GOD!”
Blue Bobcat fired a wrist missile at him, coating the area in grey smoke. “Well I’m an atheist, so you don’t exist!”
“SMOKE!” laughed Doctor Falcon. “You hit me with smoke! Is your next attack wet lettuce? Coarse language?”
“It’s me!” said Gunship as he ploughed through the smoke and hit Doctor Falcone like a pile driver. The sonic boom from the impact shattered glass for miles as Gunship hammered the madman about the head, cracking the visor of the suit.
“They’re moving too fast for me to use my faerie magic,” said Unicorn-Man.
“Well we better think of something,” Fryce replied as she watched Gunship get smashed into orbit. “Coz if he’s smacking Gunship around like that, what chance do we have?”
“So where are we?” Keeling asked as he stood in a weird grey room next to Roswell.
“Brain-Space, Mr President.” Roswell replied. “It’s a place of existence somewhere between the astral plane and the collective intelligence. In here we keep the secrets.”
“This is hard to comprehend,” Keeling rubbed his temple.
“Don’t try to rationalise it, just accept it,” Roswell suggested as he walked to the wall and opened a hole in it, pulling out a yellow quartz cluster. “This is Micellium. Discovered by Australian researcher Doctor Mike Micelli in 2009 from a piece of comet that landed in Western Australia. Micellium comes from the other end of the galaxy, is about three times as dense as osmium and just as rare, even though it looks like yellow glass.”
“And it’s here in Brain-Space?”
“None of this is real, in the tangible sense Mr President,” Roswell said as he returned the micellium to the wall. “The actual real micellium is hidden in plain sight at a location that will be revealed if ever it is needed.”
“So our secret weapon is jewellery?” Keeling said. “I’m not exactly filled with confidence.”
To be continued same time, if not sooner, next week.....see you there!